


helpless

by starlight_sugar



Category: Neoscum (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M, mentions of Pox/Van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:16:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_sugar/pseuds/starlight_sugar
Summary: It hadn’t occurred to Dak that he would be able to hear his downstairs neighbor, because for a long time he didn’t have a downstairs neighbor. But he can hear the guy’s phone calls, and smell the food he cooks. And most importantly, he can hear the guy singing in the shower.





	helpless

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is part of the AUcember series, a self-made challenge where I try to write a new AU one-shot every day. You can read all of the AUcember fics in the collection linked above.

The guy downstairs is singing again. Which he does most mornings - every morning, because he’s apparently some fancy-pants who showers every day - and it wakes Dak up, like it always does.

The walls in the apartment complex that Dak calls home are thin. Like, paper thin. Like, he knows too much about his neighbors four doors down, thin. It hadn’t occurred to him that he would be able to hear his downstairs neighbor, because for a long time he didn’t have a downstairs neighbor. But now he does, and it took a while to get used to it. He can hear the guy’s phone calls, and smell the food he cooks. And most importantly, he can hear the guy singing in the shower.

Today’s song of choice isn’t one that Dak recognizes, which isn’t that unusual. He doesn’t know most of the songs that this guy sings, but he always gets them stuck in his head anyways. He has a playlist that’s just songs that the downstairs neighbor sings, and it’s all sorts of stuff. There’s some Jimmy Buffett and some Carly Rae, and some Evanescence, and the playlist covers pretty much all the bases in between. It’s expanded Dak’s musical horizons. It’s also confused the fuck out of his Spotify algorithm, which is something he can appreciate. Fuck computers.

He settles into bed, not quite ready to sit up or wake up. He can hear the water running downstairs, and he can hear his neighbor singing. He has a nice voice, low and gravelly, singing everything a little bit too slow like he’s trying to make sure he hits the right notes. Dak’s never met the guy, but he could listen to him sing all day.

It sounds like Broadway today, Dak decides, and lets his eyes slip shut. Broadway or something else extra dramatic, with a lot of high notes, and damn if the guy isn’t going for them all. It’s not good, but it is a nice way to wake up.

 

#

 

“Why are you humming a song from Hamilton?” Pox demands. “Do you know what Hamilton is? Who told you what Hamilton is?”

“Hamilton?” Dak repeats. He’s heard of this. He totally knows what this is. “Pox, quit trying to make fun of me. Shakespeare isn’t a musical.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, Hamilton, where the guy kills his uncle because of a ghost?”

“You’re thinking of Macbeth,” Pox says, dripping with condescension. “Where his wife makes him kill his uncle because of the witches. I’m talking about Hamilton, the musical.”

“Is it on Broadway?”

“Yes, it’s on Broadway.”

“And it has that song I was singing?”

“Where did you hear that song if you don’t know where it’s from?”

“My neighbor was singing it,” Dak explains.

Pox tilts her head at him. They go out for lunch together sometimes, except lunch normally actually means that they get ice cream and then coffee or something, because Dak has never seen Pox eat anything that’s less than 80% sugar. There’s a ring of chocolate around her mouth, which is twisted into a tiny frown as she thinks about that. “Is this the neighbor who you keep running into at the mailbox?”

“No, this is my downstairs neighbor.”

“The one who sings in the shower?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh.” Pox licks her ice cream cone contemplatively. “That’s why you’re singing, isn’t it? Because of him?”

“Yeah,” Dak says, because sometimes Pox has to come to her own conclusions, and this is one of those times. “What’s Hamilton the musical?”

“It’s about the founding fathers, and how one of them is a slut or something.” Pox waves her hands vaguely, and her ice cream drops on the ground in the process. “I only listened to it once, but Van is a big fan.”

“Of Broadway?”

“Something like that. But she listens to this Hamilton one a lot. She says the guy who wrote it is a regular Shakespeare.”

“So it is Shakespeare?”

“She might’ve said something else. Sondheim or Strauss or-” her frown deepens. “Something with an S. Or something that ended with an R.”

“Shakespeare doesn’t end with R.”

“Maybe not, but I have something for you that starts with an R. Are you ever going to talk to your neighbor?”

“Talk to him?” Dak repeats. “That’s not what you do with people who you hear singing.”

“What do you do with people who you hear singing?”

“You give them money on the street. Or you pay for concert tickets first.”

“You’ve never gone to a concert in your life.”

“You don’t know that,” Dak says. He’s been to one concert. It was at Warped Tour, and he hadn’t paid for the tickets.

Pox rolls her eyes. “You can say hi to him! That’s how I met Van.”

That is how Pox met Van, sort of. Their origin story involves a van, and a tent, and at least one of them being homeless for a little while. Dak’s a little blurry on the details, all he knows is that they’re inseparable and happy as a couple of clams, which is really the important part.

“Maybe,” Dak says, which is the nice way of saying that he’s not going to talk to his neighbor, because there’s not a normal way to tell someone that you’re a little bit in love with their singing voice. “Hey, did you want to get coffee?”

Pox’s idea of coffee is more or less a milkshake with some espresso, so he’s basically buying her ice cream twice. But it’s worth it, because her face lights up at the suggestion, and she stops asking about Dak’s neighbors. It’s a win-win.

 

#

 

Dak knows every neighbor on his floor, because he’s not a monster and these people deserve to be seen and known. He doesn’t know the people on other floors, though, because he’s not home often enough to get to know them. But he recognizes most of them by now. There’s the tall lady who he sees at work sometimes. There’s the cop lady. There’s the guy with a replica sword. There’s downstairs neighbor, of course.

And there’s mail guy. The one Dak actually wants to get to know.

He doesn’t know what it is about their schedules, or the way they are as people, but they always get their mail at the same time. Dak started cracking jokes about it the fourth time they ran into each other, but it took till the fifteenth time for the guy to start smiling. He has a nice smile, a little shy and startled. Or maybe that’s just the effect Dak has on him. That wouldn’t be too unusual, Dak has that effect on a lot of people.

Mail guy is already at the mailbox when Dak gets there, but he smiles at Dak. “Running late?”

“Busy day,” Dak says cheerfully. “Or you’re running early! Time is an illusion, and so am I.”

“Right,” mail guy says, in the tone of voice that means he’s laughing at Dak, sort of. Dak likes it. “Well, if you’re an illusion, you’re a pretty consistent one. You show up the same time and the same place every day.”

“I do!” Dak unlocks his mailbox and looks inside. Coupon, coupon, personal letter, newspaper, coupon, bill. The usual, then. “What does that make me?”

“An NPC,” mail guy mutters.

Dak barks out a laugh, startled. Mail guy blinks and then looks at Dak with wide eyes. Dak just shrugs. “I’ve played a lot of Skyrim,” he says.

“Me too,” mail guy says, looking surprised. “I, uh- I’ve got to go, I have a- a thing, but I wanna hear all about you playing Skyrim, I bet it’s insane.”

“I have great stories,” Dak says cheerfully. “And I wanna hear yours too.”

“Oh, no, mine are-”

“Yours are different than mine! Which makes them interesting.” Dak locks his mailbox and looks mail guy in the eye. “I’ll hear your stories tomorrow.”

Mail guy blinks, looking dazed, but he nods. “Tomorrow. Same place, same time.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Mail guy smiles, and it’s a nice smile. A warm, personable smile, the kind that mail guy doesn’t have very often. It’s a little bit fucking breathtaking, and Dak immediately wants to make it happen more. As much as possible, really. He’s still smiling as he turns and walks away, but Dak can hear him humming something under his breath. Something catchy and familiar.

“Huh,” Dak says aloud. He’s gonna have to ask Pox to send him this Hamilton thing. Seems like everyone’s listening to it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr and Twitter @waveridden!


End file.
